


Another Chance

by regretting my username_ (777imou_offline367)



Series: Fic Ideas [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fantasy, Haizaki Shougo Needs A Hug, Haizaki Shougo has PTSD, Haizaki Shougo is So Done, Haizaki Shougo-Centric, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Just slow in general, Magic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reincarnation, Sad, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Temporary Character Death, Transmigration, Work In Progress, first fic of the new year, the death is technically temporary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:01:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28479603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/777imou_offline367/pseuds/regretting%20my%20username_
Summary: "Why me? I'm not worth it - surely you know that much""Maybe in the beginning you were not, but that is not the case now. You have shown that you are more than what Fate had planned for you - a soul capable of redemption. It would be a tragedy to lose you to the misery that was willfully bestowed upon you”"I don't think I can""Then allow us to show you otherwise. Allow your soul another chance to see that life is not the misery and suffering it was made out to be"
Relationships: Haizaki Shougo & Kiseki no Sedai | Generation of Miracles
Series: Fic Ideas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014129
Comments: 11
Kudos: 9





	Another Chance

The Square before him is filled to the brim.

There are soldiers, merchants, and aristocrats; magicians, authors, and tacticians; elderly, middle-aged, and youths; parents, sons, and daughters; men, women, and children.

All of them stand in neat, silent rows that go from one side of the Square to the other. Several young mages are interspersed amongst them, tasked with carrying a lantern and maintaining its magically fed flame. Every one wears a black cloak spelled with minor defensive and weather protection magic. They flap aggressively as the wind picks up, followed by the rumbling of thunder prowling the skies.

At the center of the crowd, surrounded by floating holo-screens and several members of the Guard, is a long and plain wooden stage. At each corner stands a member of the Elite Guard and a Certified Magician. Each Elite has a sword strapped to their hip drawn a few inches from the scabbard to allow easier retrieval while each Magician is carrying an Enhancer Staff, the orbs at the top swirling faintly with the glow of magical energy. In the middle where they face, an Immobilization Circle spins steady and slow, its bright green glow indicating its active status.

Where they had once been reciting a list of crimes and descriptions of punishment, they, too, have gone silent.

And where is he in all of this, you ask? Well, where else would he be?

He stands in the center of the Immobilization Circle, entirely paralyzed, save for his head, with feet planted shoulder-width apart, arms frozen, positioned in a T-pose. His body is bare save for his thin cotton pants, the cloak that had been covering him until a minute ago having been ripped away by one of the Elite, and his expression nothing but a blank slate of indifference. 

He stands before the Capital’s citizens and observes the silent-stricken crowd before him. Expressions once filled with indignation and righteous fury are now slack with shock and confusion as they take in the sight of his form bared before them. He, too, lowers his gaze to look at his torso.

Marring the ivory skin and illuminated by the circle’s glow are two large symbols:

The first is a vivid red curse-mark depicting a fractured circle being run through by vicious lightning bolts – Heavenly power breaking through the mortal body to eradicate the soul - the symbol of the punishment curse: Heaven’s Wrathful Demise. The skin around the mark is bruised a dark purple, evidence of long-term tampering; of someone postponing its deadline.

The second circles around the punishment curse-mark, its many details drawn perfectly in smooth layers of black ink. It was outlined a majestic dark blue, a stark contrast in comparison to purple skin and rigid red lines. It showcased the success of a Forced Curse Transferal.

He takes them in, feels their undercurrent of magical buildup beneath his skin – one stable and stagnant, the other like sparks of electricity trying to violently incinerate his insides. Deciding he’s looked enough at the by-now familiar sight, he tilts his head back up, ignoring the staring of shocked citizens to observe the sky overhead.

A dense mass of dark red clouds have been gathering, churning and building up like Ruby-Scaled snakes in a pit. The wind picks up again, sweeping over the crowd and across the stage, snagging his discarded cloak and carrying it up towards the sky like an offering. Something rumbles ominously and the sky flashes a bright, plasma purple. 

He grins, the broken imitation of joy destroying the mask of indifferent defeat that had shaped his expression.

Because it wasn’t fair.

Not this trial, not the false accusations that were pinned on his head, not this damn curse that had been forcefully transferred onto him – one that has finally caught up to its postponed deadline -

Not the past lives he has lived, all of which ended the same way this one was going to - terriblly and violently. Because for countless lifetimes and numerous rebirths, no matter what he does, it was always the same.

He would remember snippets of his past lives as a toddler, decide to put them behind him, then focus on observing his surroundings and learning about the world around him. He'd grow up, explore, make relationships, encounter hardships, and experience joy. He’d take another chance at life and plan for a future filled with the things that he had come to love…

Only to have that go down the drain once he’s faced with **them**.

Time and time and time and time and time a _nd time again._

No matter what he did or how he lived, he would encounter the same group of rainbow **nightmares** and his life would be sent on a downward spiral to Hell after **they** decide to destroy themselves and everyone around them with their own arrogance. **They'd** cover themselves in a tar made of sin and filth, dragging him by the hair to be submerged along with them, and get him to destroy the life he built with his very own hands-

Before, suddenly, someone is there to save **them** ; to take **them** out of that filthy pit, clear away their errors and grant them forgiveness… while _he_ is left behind to live with the aftermath of both his and **their** actions, hands so heavily stained with blood and sin that he could no longer return to the light like **they** _always_ would.

**But why?**

_Why_ must he be made to suffer this way? To be forced to deal with the consequences of **their** actions over and over? To look at **their** faces and bear witness to **their** salvation and prosperity while _he_ is stuck in the grave they dug together?

**Why _them_?**

Because, once upon a time, several _lifetimes_ ago, they had mattered. Several lifetimes ago, he had wished to be a part of them; wanted to know them, to be known by them, to be connected with them through bonds of friendship and respect. 

But that was _then._

_Then,_ when he could still feel jealousy at their easy banter and glowing smiles. _Then_ , when he could still feel bitter over the fact that they had left him behind for someone inherently the same but his complete opposite. _Then,_ when he could still look at them and wish he could be right there with them.

That was _then_ , but they didn’t matter to him _now._ It had been too long since he’d cared about them – since he’d felt _anything_ for them. Happiness had been erased, hatred had burned out, disgust had slipped away, and even fear had eventually settled into a barely acknowledged normality.

Why should the fall out of a group of _strangers_ mean anything to him?

The only thing he wanted from them _now_ was to be rid of them; to live a life - _any life -_ away from the agony and torture that thrived beneath their shadows and chased their every step.

But he never had – never could.

And this life was no different.

In this life, full of magic and alchemy and kingdoms and Heavenly power, he had cast his first spell at five years old; a small light spell to entertain his ailing mother, sick with something they couldn't diagnose. At seven, he had already learned Intermediate Alchemy and Wizardry from the books in the library. At eight, he was tested before the kingdom’s greatest Wizards and at nine he received the highest of Honors, reserved for only the most genius of talents, and a house in the capital.

At ten, he and his brother brought his mother to their new home where they could get her the best medical care for her sickness and at eleven there was hope for a cure – a hope for a happy future filled with his mother’s smiles and his brother’s pride and his growing magic.

Then, at twelve, he was entered into the Elite School of Knowledge where he encountered **them** and, at that moment, the spiral began.

At thirteen, he collapsed into a short coma and awoke to foreign curse symbols on his skin and unknown magic burning his insides. At fourteen, the curse got worse and his mother’s illness followed, the developing cure no longer able to help her.

_He knows who cursed him ~~(knows with the certainty of lifetimes spent experiencing the same thing).~~ _

At fifteen, his brother defected from the kingdom to pursue a cure for his family in the form of Black Magic. At sixteen, his brother managed to find an annual postponement ritual that caused permanent bruising and weakened ribs. There wasn't anything to help their mother.

**_They_ ** _had been avoiding him._

At seventeen, his mother passed on the day of the postponement ritual and his brother furthered his involvement in the dark arts. At eighteen, he graduated from the Academy and his brother was named a fugitive following that year’s ritual after he was discovered practicing Black Magic by several concerned citizens.

_He finds proof that **they** cursed him – by accident, sure, but they had still done it_.

At nineteen, his brother is killed by a demon a day after the postponement ritual, lured in by the aura of strong, dark magic. His brother's fugitive status was bribed to be transferred onto his head not even a week later.

**_They_ ** _know he’s not a fugitive, but **they** also know that he knew **they** did it – Cursing others, directly or not, was a crime punishable by the stripping of a mage’s magic and eternal banishment from the kingdom. _

_No one helps him._

Only one of **them** visits him in the dungeons after his arrest.

Now, several months later, on the cusp of adulthood, he stands at his execution, staring at his death painting the sky and thinks back on the words **he** said that day-

_“It was an accident, okay? None of us meant to hit you; you weren’t even supposed to be there in the first place.”_

_“Besides, it all worked out didn’t it? You’re still alive.”_

_~~('For now' he doesn't say)~~ _ ~~~~

_“If you’re still hung up on it, though… well, it was your bad luck, right? In that case,_

_You only have **yourself** to blame.”_

-and he starts laughing – a sound filled with scorn and a hint of madness. His chest flares at the sudden movement, lungs spasming painfully against his weakened ribs, but he pays it no mind, long uncaring of the perpetual agony. Gray strands obscure his vision as he snaps his head back down to face the now-restless crowd, stormy eyes bright with a film of unshed tears, disguised by the shining glow of magic. 

“That’s right… that’s right! **You** were right- You were _always_ right!" he cackles, shadows dancing across his expression. "Me, _me_ , **_me_** – it was always **_me_** wasn’t it?! It’s _always_ going to _be **me!**_ ”

He cuts his ravings off with another bark of laughter that quickly dissolves into wails of delight and crazed giggling, the sounds bubbling forth like hiccups - maybe a little like hysteric sobs. Lightning flashes in warning, thunder quickly chasing after with a roar that echoed the howls of a boy’s descent into madness, hidden beneath helpless peals of broken glee. The winds dance wildly along, their mournful cries punctured by the cracks of Heaven’s wrathful preparations up above.

He slowly calms himself down, giggles _~~sobs~~_ tapering off enough to let a grin stretch his lips once more; something wide and easy with the air that a bright, hopeful youth at his age _should_ have - one that he hasn’t shown since the year he turned twelve _(that he hasn't felt since the first few lifetimes a long, long time ago)._

It clashed terribly with the deadening orbs of a man who had long broken his spirit and was now losing his hope.

The entire crowd collectively step back, none of them able to connect this brokenly smiling man to the blank faced youth from before – no one able to remember the previous quiet despair in the face of this madness grieving the dying remnants of hope.

Somewhere, lost within the countless heads and blurred visages, a rainbow of colorful eyes and youthful faces are twisted with discomfort – something was wrong, and **they** could feel it.

Thunder rumbles in the swirling clouds, the reds churning viciously in preparation as the winds howl in outrage and the trees shake with regret. The youth atop the stage simply sobs out another laugh, this one steeped in resignation and stained heavily with a grief that has consumed all else inside him until there was nothing left of _anything_ but the empty husk of a tired boy.

The skies alight in a flash of purple and dead eyes gaze out, the maniacal grin fading into nothing more than a neutral frown, apathy sealing the emotional cracks in a masked tomb.

And **they** were suddenly hit with an horrible feeling – an unshakable, overwhelming notion that **they** have made a _mistake_.

But it was too late. Far, far _, far_ too late.

The skies part, red clouds slithering aside to go round and round; an imitation of a whirlpool. The air pressure spikes and the wind shrieks, screaming like despairing banshees and tearing through the Square and the people in it.

There’s another, blinding flash of purple before everything explodes into white.

Devastating power descends from above, striking the stage and blowing away all those who stand too close. Magic-imbued lightning courses through him, floods his veins and chars his lungs, reaches past the barrier of mortal flesh and straight into the place of beyond where his aged soul awaits.

He feels his soul **c r e a k -  
**

and he _screams._

And as he is struck down – violently and terribly, body too young and life too short, shorter than any life he's ever lived – with his soul on the brink of **c o l l a p s e** from the trauma and the strain of constant darkness and violent deaths—

**D I N G**

**[Soul Located – Status: Critical Condition]**

**[Commencing Immediate Extraction]**

The mechanical sound rings in his ears, robotic voice cutting though the sounds of lightning and pain and screams. It reverberates throughout his entire being, somehow distracting him from the destruction that besieges him. He has a moment to feel confused before something cups around his soul, cold and gentle ( _so very, very gentle)_ , before its being _yanked_ out.

The last thing he hears is that same voice-

**[Soul Acquired – Initiating Transfer]**

**[Assigning Specialized Code: SPP-11.02-0608]**

**[Transfer Complete]**

_“Haizaki Shougo”_

_“Welcome to the Soul Protection Program”_

-before his entire world goes black.

**Author's Note:**

> And there you have it! 
> 
> My poor trash son, he's really done with the GOM and all their Bullshit™. 
> 
> This was supposed to be a two-shot, but I'm having a bit of trouble getting the words out for the second half, so I'm leaving it as complete. Let me know if you'd like me to do the second chapter. Or to make this a series. Or just what you think about it in general.
> 
> (coughvalidatemepleasecoughcough)
> 
> Happy New Year everybody!  
> -imou
> 
> EDIT: welp, guess who's continuing the fic :D will probably be slow to update, tho, so sorry in advance!!! ><


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